


Hush Little King, Don't say a Word

by bofurrific



Series: Hobbit Drabbles [36]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, and dwalin too, balin is literally the best, my twin titled this so it's her fault ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:06:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofurrific/pseuds/bofurrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is afraid he won't be able to sleep without his mother to sing him a lullaby in the wake of her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush Little King, Don't say a Word

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Thorin being around 5 or 6 at this time. Balin would be 10 or 12 and Dwalin 8. Little Frerin is only 3, so he doesn't know what's going on and Dís is a newborn.

Thorin stands before Balin's door and his hands are shaking and his eyes wet. His mother had passed away earlier this evening giving birth to his new little sister, Dís, and the young prince felt frightened and alone, and he couldn't very well crawl into bed with his grieving father.

Thorin thinks for a moment, that he must not a very good older brother, because he left Frerin alone in their chambers, but the younger heir is not yet old enough to understand that mummy is never coming back, and just as that thought sends Thorin fighting another fit of tears, the door creaks open and Balin, weary and sad and familiar Balin is there in his nightclothes, and he takes one look at his future king and opens his arms.

That's all it takes for the tears Thorin has been bravely fighting to spill free. He runs into Balin's grip and sobs wetly into his nightshirt, small hands fisted in the damp cloth. Thorin doesn't fight when Balin scoops him up and carries him to Balin's own bed, sitting on the edge with the prince in his lap.

Thorin tries to calm down because he is a prince and he should be better than this, but he thinks that he won't ever hug his mother or have her kiss scrapes on his knees, help her braid her beard in the mornings, won't ever smell her again or see her smile, won't ever again be sung to sleep by her lullabies. And at that he starts to cry harder, loud gulping sobs that steal his breath and leave painful hiccups on his lips, despite his efforts to stay quiet because he has never in his fourteen years of life fallen asleep without one of his mother's songs on his ears.

He can't convey all of this to Balin, and Dwalin now too, who has awoken at the sound of his prince's grief and joined his brother, kneeling on the floor beside his bed with his hands rubbing Thorin's back and Balin pressing kisses to his hair. He must gasp something about the lullabies though, because for a moment Dwalin's hands leave his back and when he comes back, he is holding a fiddle, and Balin is starting to hum a slow tune.

It's not the same, not the right song or octave and Balin's voice is nowhere near as lovely as his mother's, but Thorin is exhausted from holding back his tears all day and releasing them so suddenly, and it is so warm there between Balin and Dwalin, with his head on the elder's shoulder, the vibration of his voice resonating through his chest, and it doesn't take long before the prince is asleep.

Dwalin sets down his fiddle and he and Balin exchange sad looks, but neither move to put Thorin back in his own bed. As tenderly as he can, Balin shifts to lie back on his bed, careful so as not to jostle the finally sleeping prince, whose little face is red and swollen with tears, and he does not protest when Dwalin joins him, laying a hand over Thorin's back as he snuggles closer to his brother and together they join their prince in sleep.


End file.
